God, I hate roses.
17
Gabe
I had no idea what I had just walked into, but they had been making so much noise I’d heard them all the way on the first floor when I walked into the lobby of The Washington Arms. No one answered when I knocked—three times. I assumed by the hooting laughter coming from the other side of the door that they just didn’t hear me, so I tried the knob. The door was open.
Holy shit it was chaos inside.
The two women I had met previously, Jolene and Gerta, were sitting on a small couch on one side of the room. Angel was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of Gerta, trying to tip the contents of a pitcher into her mouth and making a face because there was nothing left in it. The smell of sour mix permeated the entire room and looking to the left, into the small kitchen I could see an empty bottle of tequila and a partially full bottle of triple sec on the counter.
It didn’t take my finely-honed investigatory skills to deduce they were drunk.
The apartment was also trashed. There were stacks of papers everywhere, and I didn’t know where to put my eyes that wouldn’t trigger a compulsive organizational fit.
Angel blinked sleepily up at me from the floor. “I thought our date was this weekend?” Oh yeah, she was lit up for sure.
“I thought you said you needed to get work done?” She hadn’t told me what else she did besides her musical gigs but had mentioned she worked from home. I did notice a laptop on a TV tray sitting next to a decrepit hunter green recliner, but that was the only indication that there was any type of “work” getting done at all.
“Well I was, but then it was storytime.” She smiled up at me from the floor and lifted one arm in the air. I assumed correctly that it was a request for help standing, so I pulled her to her feet, and she fell immediately into my arms where I squeezed her in a hug. She wasn’t going to be happy with me when I told her I had to break our date. She was going to be even less happy when I told her I was only going to stay for a minute because I was on my way to the airport.
She snuggled into the embrace and I let myself hold on to her for a moment, smelling the faint aroma of tea tree shampoo mixed with tequila. Not a combination I would have picked, but on Angel, it was endearing. When she straightened out of the hug, I handed her the dozen pink roses. They were her favorite; I remembered from when we were younger. I might have been mistaken but the light in her eyes seemed to dim for a bit as she took the roses from my hand, but she smiled widely and thanked me before digging through a cabinet to find a vase.
The vase turned out to be a large mason jar, and instead of separating the stems and arranging them in the jar where they had room to breathe, she dumped the bouquet in the jar with the rubber band still around the stems and ran some tap water into it.
She actually seemed kind of mad about it, and I mentally retraced my steps since I entered the apartment, trying to find the moment where I pissed her off.
I wanted to ask her if she was angry with me, but I got distracted by Jolene and Gerta getting up from the couch and heading towards the door.
“I can’t stay long, don’t end your evening on my account,” I said politely to the women, but they waved me off and shuffled out the door, laughing quietly. They seemed to have their wits about them much more so than Angel did, and I wondered if storytime was really just a euphemism for getting Angel drunk and watching her carry on. I was actually relieved they were excusing themselves. I had to catch a flight, and I was pretty sure Angel was going to be upset with me having to cancel our first date. We may have slept together twice already, okay, three times, if I counted the time we were actually just sleeping, but still—we had not actually gone anywhere together that didn’t involve a trauma of some sort. But I was following a lead and I had to hurry.
“Would you like a snack?” Angel slurred, gesturing to a low coffee table in front of the couch where a box of almond crackers, an empty plate, and a can of spray cheese—sans cap—sat.
“Almond crackers and spray cheese?” Like saying it out loud would make it turn into something else.
“It’s low carb.” Angel gave me the side eye that said she thought I might have been a little slow for not knowing that.
I came here to tell her I had to go out of town in person, but I hadn’t planned on her being shitfaced. This was turning out to be a bit difficult, as the tequila apparently gave Angel six more arms than normal and she was clinging to me like an octopus. And I would have considered it a blessing any other time but now. I had to go, and I had to tell her why.
“Angel, I can’t stay, I have to tell you something.” That got her attention. Her arms dropped down to her sides and her eyes met mine defiantly.
“What?” The change was instant. Gone was the flirty and giggling Angel from a moment before. Now there was clearly some door in between us that had shut, and I had no idea what I had said to instigate that. But I was really going to be late if I didn’t get moving soon, so I forged on ahead. Beg forgiveness rather than ask permission was kind of my motto.
“I have to cancel our date this weekend.” Angel said nothing, just looked at me with that guarded look in her eyes and blinked.
“There is a reason, though,” I continued, thinking that maybe she would give me some sort of facial expression if I just kept talking. “I got a lead on Melody and I am flying into Atlantic City. I’ve had a line out on information regarding her whereabouts since I got you back from Chaz. There wasn’t much to go on up until now but I got a ping in my information network that someone by the name of Melody Kessler was picked up for something petty and is currently sitting in county lockup waiting for someone to post bail. I want to get there before someone else does and see if I can’t get any info.” I finished speaking and stood there looking at Angel. Willing her to say something, anything, even to get mad and yell because she was just looking at me with that vacant expression and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
It made me really nervous. Angel wasn’t happy, but she didn’t look upset that I was breaking our date, or that I was flying out last minute. She looked like she didn’t feel anything at all.
“Oh,” she finally said, like a light bulb had just gone off in her brain. “Melody has the money. You can get your money back.”
Technically it was Chaz’s money that she had taken, the money I had paid for Angel I considered gone. I was never going to see a penny of that again, and if I never had to worry about her tangling with Chaz Malone again, I would consider it money well spent. Money was just paper, and I had a lot of it. I know that is a sentiment only the wealthy can appreciate, but I am fucking wealthy, so I am qualified to say it.
“Didn’t you want to know what happened to Melody? Weren’t you worried about your friend?” I prodded a little bit, trying to get a response. Maybe being drunk really dulled Angel’s senses. I wonder how many margaritas she had to get her to this zombie stage? It was pretty fucking creepy.
“Honestly? I had forgotten. I’ve had a lot going on and I just haven’t thought about it.” She shook her head a bit to clear it, and I saw her blinking rapidly, and for a panic-stricken moment I thought she was going to start crying, but she regained control. This Angel was different, and part of me wondered if it was the alcohol, or if something was really wrong, so I gave in to the urge I'd been having since I walked in the door and I kissed her.
I should have remembered that there is no such thing as just kissing Angel. She immediately turned to putty against me, her mouth soft and warm. As I let my tongue slip inside, I tasted the remnants of tequila and lime. I drank her up, feeling her press into me, trying to get closer to me as I was to her and, well…fuck it, I would speed to the airport if I had to. Angel felt too good to let go of, so I decided not to. Atlantic City wasn't going anywhere. So what if I missed the only direct flight out of Detroit and had to take a route that sent me all over hell's half acre? Angel's boobs were pushing into my chest and I couldn't think right when she did that.<
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Instead of breaking contact and heading for the apartment door, I grabbed her closer and walked her backward towards what I assumed was her bedroom door. Compulsion to clean be damned, I would fuck her on a pile of laundry if I had to, Jesus, she did things to me.
Her bedroom, thankfully, looked nothing like the chaos of the living area, and as I managed to walk her backward into the small space until the backs of her legs hit the bed, I gave her a little push to send her bouncing on the mattress. She giggled as she flopped onto her back, but I was too mesmerized by the bouncing of her tits to notice anything else, and I hopped onto the full-size mattress to join her.
I meant to land next to her and pin her down so I could bury my face in between those soft twin mounds, however, that is not what happened. I could shoot a nickel off a bottle top sitting in a grassy field but I'll be damned if I didn't miscalculate and hit the edge of that little bed wrong. I crashed onto the floor hard, cracking my knee and wedging myself between the bed and the nightstand.
"Holy shit, are you ok?" Her worried face appeared over the edge of the bed, looking down at me in all of my unmanly glory as I lay on my back, stunned.
"You will forget that this happened immediately," I told her, in my most commanding voice as I struggled to my feet. The fit of giggles she dissolved into gave me the impression she wasn't taking me seriously. We would see about that.
Well, there was nothing seriously injured, aside from the death-blow to my pride, but that sexual feeling I had been entertaining a moment ago disappeared in a puff of smoke, just like my self-esteem. I braced myself on the nightstand to get leverage to get up off the floor. I swear to God, that was all I was doing, but somehow, when I put my hand on the small table and put my body weight against it, all hell broke loose inside. Something came alive in there and could be heard ricocheting off every surface inside the drawer making a ratta tat tat noise over and over and over again.
What the hell is that?
I looked at Angel for clarification but she just stared at the closed nightstand drawer in horror, still as a statue. Her expression became mortified as what I assumed was a tiny device for giving female pleasure vibrated against every surface in the confines of that drawer.
"Shouldn't you get that?"
"Shut up," she whispered, blinking rapidly as if to see if she could wish it away like the remnants of a bad dream. No such luck.
It was making so much noise in there my curiosity was getting the best of me. How many speeds did that thing have? I wonder how it would rate on the vibrator Richter scale. It certainly sounded like it had some power behind it.
"That thing sounds like a weedwhacker," I added when she hadn't so much as twitched or made a move to open the drawer.
"Oh my God, shut up." Finally laughing, and maybe looking close to tears, she opened the damn drawer. Quick as lightning and before I could look inside she grabbed a pink piece of plastic that looked like a remote control with a cord attached to it. The other end of the cord was connected to whatever was having a dance party in the nightstand drawer, but Angel didn’t pull it all the way out. Instead, she slapped the remote looking thing against her hand until the back popped off and the batteries fell out and down, littering the bedroom carpet by her feet. She dropped the plastic pieces back in the drawer and slammed it shut, turning to face me with a look on her face that begged me to let it drop.
No way was I letting this go.
"I think you broke it," I teased, and she made a zipping motion with her fingers over her mouth.
"Not a damn word, Gabriel," Angel hissed at me, standing in front of me and poking her finger into my chest. She was serious and embarrassed and adorable. There was nothing to be embarrassed about, but it was still pretty funny.
"I'm serious. I think I might have performance anxiety."
"That's it," Angel said as she turned me to face the door and gave me a little shove. "Don't you have a plane to catch?" She was right, I did. So I gave her a light kiss on the cheek and left her standing there, red-faced in the hallway and probably desperately hoping while I was gone that I would forget all about it.
Yeah right. I would be googling something fun for us to play with together when I got back, was more like it.
Musing over what new present I could bring Angel next, I wasn’t paying attention and almost tripped over Jolene as I was walking out the front door of the apartment building.
“She hates roses.” Well, that was blunt and to the point. And wholly incorrect.
“I’ve known Angel since we were really little,” I told Jolene, trying not to be a smartass. “Her favorite color is pink and her favorite flower is roses.”
“Yeah, maybe it used to be,” Jolene continued, giving me the look of someone who knows something the other person doesn’t and wants to Lord it over them. “But I’ve known Angel for the last five years and I know for a fact that she hates pink roses. You are lucky she didn’t make you eat them.”
She was delusional, she had to be. I was absolutely sure of this fact, and if it were any other day, I would stand in that hallway and argue the point with her, but I couldn’t. It was an hour drive to the airport, not including fighting parking and getting through security at the terminal. My flight left in two hours, I had to go.
I was even opening my mouth to tell her so when she handed me a grocery bag full of books. There were probably eight of them in there. Why? I had no idea. I just opened the bag and looked at the contents stupidly.
“You think you know so much about women? About that one upstairs?” The small woman was standing toe to toe with me, so close that if she hadn’t had her face turned up and her hand angrily pointing up at my face, all I would have been able to see of her would have been the top of her head. “Your mama sure has nothing but good things to say about what kind of man you have grown up to be, but I think you are about as dumb as a bag of hammers. At least about Angel. You want an education? Read a book, kid.” With that, she turned on her heel and stalked into her apartment. She walked off in the kind of huff that would normally end with the slamming of a door, but this was an apartment building of older people, so maybe she was considerate to the other residents.
Who knows why people do what they do? She’d already walked back into her apartment and shut the door. There had to be a reason why she’d given me the books, and it had something to do with Angel. The books were all written by someone named Samantha Ice, and the books all seemed to a part of some sort of series. Each one was a different volume of the same series; “Delia Dates: Diary of a Single Girl.”
What the hell did this have to do with anything? I threw the entire grocery bag of books into my carry-on bag. Maybe I would look at it while I was at the hotel, if I had time. Regardless, I had to get to the airport, I didn’t have time for this shit.
18
Gabe
I had more time than I anticipated.
Not at the airport, though. I had barely gotten to the terminal on time, especially since I got picked for a random search, and my bag didn’t just go through the scanner, I had the glory of the contents being spread all over the conveyer belt. There were some looks at the stack of chick literature from other people in line, but one of the security guards was apparently a fan and went on and on for about ten minutes about how good the series was.
I didn’t fucking care, I had to catch my flight. It was important not only to get to Atlantic City, but to get to the jail before Melody Kessler was released. If she disappeared again, I didn’t know if I would be able to pick up her trail again. She’d already gotten pretty far in such a short amount of time, I couldn’t trust she wouldn’t continue going once she got out of lockup.
It was the right Melody Kessler, I mean, for the most part. She didn’t seem anything like the nice girl Angel had described, and she certainly didn’t look anything like the social media profile picture I had to go on when I was searching for her. I was glad Angel wasn’t with me to see the shell of this person she had thought s
he was saving.
I was in and out of that detention center in a half hour. It wasn’t even worth the rental car fee, much less the time I took to fly out there. Melody Kessler was a junkie who stole the money and ran as fast as her boyfriend’s car would take her. She made it as far as Atlantic City before her boyfriend, Ron, caught up with her, and before she could come up with an excuse, he had taken that money right out from under her nose and disappeared with it. I highly doubted he had gone back to Malone, or maybe he had. Chaz wasn’t under any obligation to inform me of his money’s return. That girl, though, she was a mess and had zero remorse for what she had done.
She’d sat there in that visitor's cube holding that sad black phone receiver and staring sullenly through the glass. When I told her what her little stunt almost did to Angel she finally cracked and showed some emotion, but instead of remorse, she laughed.
“It’s not my fault that chick got into it with Chaz. I never asked for her help. She should have minded her own business.” Melody paused to brush a clump of her stringy brown hair behind her ear. “You know what that girl's problem is? She’s too nice. She thinks everyone is her friend, but she doesn’t take the time to get to know anyone. She didn’t know shit about me because if she did, she would have known I could handle myself and I was going to take what I wanted and go. She just takes everything at face value. I wonder if that dumb bitch actually has any real friends at all.”
I’d gotten up and left then, without another word. I didn’t need to stay and collect any more information. I certainly didn’t need to sit and listen to her assessment of Angel. She didn’t get to make comments like that about Angel. What Melody Kessler could do, was sit in her cell and wait for her trial date. I’m pretty sure prostitution was a misdemeanor, but that burglary charge hanging over her head was a class two felony. But it didn’t matter, it wasn’t any of my business. Melody Kessler was none of my concern. Angel Jax, however, was very much on my mind.
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